


second base

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Blow Jobs, First Time, M/M, Underage Sex, theyre both like 14 here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 06:45:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12625440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: You don’t want him to know that you’ve totally got a thing for him. You hadn’t even had enough to drink to blame it on that if you regretted this, neither of you had. Your only excuse was sleep deprivation, of which you weren’t suffering, and the insurmountable urge to get your dick wet.





	second base

**Author's Note:**

> happy nanowrimo last year i sucked off an undertale cosplayer heres a johndave fanfiction

You feel drunk off Red Fanta and your corneas are all but burning from staring at Dave’s flat-screen TV and playing Super Mario 64 all evening. You wanna sleep, but Sollux is already asleep across the floor and Karkat is rolled up into a little ball on Dave’s crappy garage-sale beanbag, so that means your best friend will be exponentially pissed if you leave him up alone for the rest of the night. It’s a rite of passage, being the last one up with Dave. This is the cherished moment of a friendship where he makes it seems like you’re his  _ best _ friend. This is an extra special experience, considering your feelings for him are a little more than friendly sometimes. 

He’s frying eggs in his kitchen, and you’re trying not to concentrate on the spoiled food in his cupboard. You sit on a messy counter with boxes and bags of junk food you’ve shoved aside and kick your legs a little and you watch him poke around at a pan. 

“Fuck it,” he grumbles, “I’m making scrambled eggs now.” 

You bonk your head against the door of a cabinet. “I can see you’re quite the chef.” 

“If you’re gonna insult me you can get down here an’ cook this shit yourself, Egbert.” 

“Language,” you say, and he just tells you to fuck off because he doesn’t like it when you make fun of him for cursing too much, which he has a bad habit of doing, especially when he’s tired. You snicker and glance down the hall you can see from just beyond the kitchen. You glance up to stare at one of his brother’s obnoxious cameras above the doorway, which Dave tells you not to worry about ‘cause his brother only collects feed from the cameras you don’t know are there. That one is a clever distraction. You think Dave’s brother is kind of insane, but you don’t say anything about it. 

“Hey,” you say, and you look back at Dave, “These aren’t expired eggs, right?” 

“What kinda guy do you take me for? I wouldn’t feed my finest dude expired eggs. And if they were expired, you’d probably taste it.”

“You sure wouldn’t, though, what with all the ketchup you put on  _ your  _ scrambled eggs like a heathen,” you tease him, and he scrapes violently at the eggs on the frying pan. Dave gets weirdly angry about stupid things when he’s sleep-deprived, and you know that he pulled an all night last night, too. It’s a little bit of fun for yourself to make fun of him like this. He takes it way too seriously even though you’re only joking him. 

“It’s not my fault I got taste, Egbert, you ain’t put shit on your anything unless it’s salt or pepper like ‘cause you’re the whitest nigga I know--,” he’s fuming and it’s all you have not to laugh at him, which will just make him feel bad about himself. Sad Dave is worse than Angry Dave, and Angry Dave is fun most times. The only time it’s not is when he’s angry at someone in particular, and not just at anything and everything. When Dave is angry at  _ someone,  _ it’s not very fun, it’s just very awkward. 

“That’s an oxymoron,” you tell him softly, and he ignores you. 

“You’re lucky you have  _ such  _ a good fuckin’ best friend,” he tells you, “Lucky you didn’t get dicks drawn on your face this time, too, jus’ Karkat. You were payin’ the third pizza guy. Me and Sollux drew connect the dots on his acne before the guy passed out, too. The dude looks like he’s got constellations across his fat ass, except he ain’t half as pretty as the sky.”

“Stop ripping on Karkat, dude, I’m fat, too.” 

“You sound like a whiney white bitch. You ain’t fat, and if you think you are, at least you don’t look like some anorexic-stricken sorry soul’s thinspiration like I do. You’re good off. Karkat’s  _ obese. _ ”

You laugh. “I think you’re being a little too harsh on him, dude. He’s, like, eight pounds overweight.” 

“I think you’re being harsh on yourself, dipshit, and don’t even try to bring up my fuckin’ swearin’ right now, I ain’t having it.” 

You roll your eyes at him, hopping down from the counter. “You don’t sound cooler by saying fuck, nerd,” you tell him, “You just sound like sixth-grade Karkat on steroids.” 

“Sixth grade was just last year, an’ Karkat’s only gotten worse. You heard him since he found out about ‘cunt’? But at least sixth-grade Karkat wasn’t on a diabetes watchlist.” 

“He’s not that fat!” you say with a laugh, “Do you want me to get you another soda?” 

Dave hesitates for a strong moment, and you watch him expectantly, one hand already secured on the sticky handle of Dave’s fridge. A pile of swords are leaning up against the wall beside it, though you haven’t a clue why his brother would put those things anywhere near his kitchen. “Do you wanna drink something else?” he asks you finally. 

“Like what?”

“Like... “ Dave pauses on this for a moment, “Like, what if we got fucked up right now?” 

“Like-- Like,  _ drunk  _ fucked up?” you ask him after a moment, “Uh, I don’t know, dude.” 

He turns down his electric stove from high to low, playing around with the scrambled eggs, “C’mon dude, don’t be a pussy. I know where Bro keeps his shit, and I won’t make you drink beer, ‘cause that shit’s gross as fuck, but he’s got like… Fuck if I know, vodka and shit.”

“I don’t know,” you repeat yourself, opening the fridge to get a can of Fanta, “My dad would be pissed if he found out.” 

“Is he gonna find out?” Dave asks, “How would he, anyway? I wouldn’t tell Karkat and Sollux, either, so they won’t snitch on us. C’mon, dude, this isn’t any worse than smoking.”

“I’m not the one who smokes! I have asthma. It’s you and Sollux who do it because you think it’s cool. You’re gonna get addicted to nicotine, and then you’ll get lung cancer, and then--,” 

“Alright, you fuckin’ buzzkill, we don’t have to drink. I just thought it might be cool to do it with you. Last weekend Karkat and I got buzzed and all he did was laugh at all my jokes. But I guess you already laugh at my jokes, so it ain’t like it’s a huge deal, right?” he turns off the stove entirely, shoveling a pile of scrambled eggs onto a plastic  _ Power Rangers _ plate. 

“You’ve done it before?”

“I’m not a baby like you are, John.”

“I’m not a baby, fuck off, you asshole,” you grumble. Dave snorts.

“Language,” he tells you.

You stick your tongue out at him. “Do you really get hangovers?”

“Karkat’s was worse than mine when we did it, so yeah, kinda. But your dad seriously won’t notice, dude, it’s not like weed. Bro tells me smoking is way better than getting drunk, though, so--,” 

“No,” you say immediately, “Absolutely not.”

“Whatever. Bro would beat me into next week if I tried to find out where he keeps that shit anyways. You’re sounding like you’re considering the drinking, though,” Dave turns and nods towards your soda, “You can mix it with that. It might taste better.” 

You glance down at your can. “I still don’t know if we should.” 

Dave sets down the heaping plate of scrambled eggs on the messy counter among left-open Dorito bags and moldy half-eaten bags of bread. He snags your can of soda from you and slides it next to his half-empty one. “Then I can decide for you,” he says, grabbing two mismatching Rib Crib cups from his cabinet. All of Dave’s dishes were a hodgepodge of cheap things from restaurants and one-use styrofoam shit. 

You don’t object to Dave, not wanting to seem like any more of a little bitch. Part of staying up so late with him is doing things you wouldn’t otherwise do-- Dave’s apartment is so weird to be at. When the guys stay at your house, the most adventurous thing you do is sneak out to go to the little park in your neighborhood. At Dave’s, you catch midnight bus rides to McDonald’s, sit with Karkat and watch Dave and Sollux smoke at empty skate parks which is totally lame but it feels super cool, and laze about his apartment and make games of who can accidentally stumble across more oddly-placed sex toys. 

It makes you feel outside of the real world, sometimes, like you’re in a movie. And in movies, teenagers drink. You guess this is the most boring rebellious thing you could do at this point, after stealing candy from dollar stores and smuggling cigarettes from gas stations. You never actively did those things, but the other guys thought it made them tough shit, so it wasn’t like you’d ever snitch. Dave had been doing crazy shit since before you could remember. 

Dave gets into a cabinet and pulls out a huge bottle, half-full of what you guessed was vodka. The label is very obviously peeled off the front, which you think is very sketchy, but you don’t say anything. He pours it in huge doses into a Rib Crib cup, and you teeter on your heels as you watch him. 

“Is that too much?” you ask him as the alcohol is poured into your cup with copious glugs. 

“Maybe,” Dave says and leaves it at that for a good moment until he sets the bottle back down and gauges the liquid in your cup, “Nah, I think we’ll be okay,” he says after inspecting them, “Can you get me the ketchup?” he asks, and you oblige as he fills up his cup with alcohol. You try to hand him the bottle, but he’s busy topping off the drinks with Red Fanta. You just slide the ketchup next to the plate of eggs as he sets the bottle under the tap to fill it back up with water. You thought surely his Bro would notice, but looking up into the cabinet, you noticed that there were plenty of other bottles for him to go through. You wondered how often Dave did this. 

“Do you want to take the eggs to the living room and find some shitty late-night sitcom for us to watch?” he tells you as he caps back off the bottle. He pushes it aside and cracks open the soda can, “I’ll give you more soda than me, by the way, so you don’t completely flip your shit. It doesn’t really taste good.”

“Good plan,” you say, taking the ketchup under your arms and throwing open Dave’s silverware drawer to grab two plastic forks scattered among shitty, but real silverware and sticking them into the pile of scrambled eggs, “Okay. So you’re sure Bro’s not going to get us in trouble for this, right, because I don’t want to--,” 

“John, it’s not like it matters if he catches us. He’s only going to beat my ass. Like, yeah, he’d probably get off on giving you a talking-to, but this ain’t a porno and I doubt you’ll leave with any hang-ups. Jus’ go set us up in the living room, man.” 

You blink at Dave. “He’s not actually a… he’s not going to do that, is he?”

“The fact that you gotta ask means he’s a very good pedophile, huh?” he says, and at your wide-eyed stare, he snorts, “No, he ain’t really a pedophile, dumbass. And he ain’t gonna yell at you or nothing, you’re my only friend he likes, even if he thinks you’re sort of a queer. Now, don’t make me ask you the same shit again, man.” 

“Alright, alright! Excuse my concern,” you say, sticking your tongue out at him, and carting your loot to the living room to push aside stale, stolen junk food and set the plate of eggs down with a clank. You flick on the TV and search through the TV guide for something super shitty to watch. Dave hasn’t had cable for a really long time, and the amount of crap on television enthralls him to no end, so he’s always looking for something god-awful to show you and the guys. 

Dave comes back into the living room, carefully toting two cups full of slightly less-red-than-normal Fanta and sets yours down next to the eggs. You never thought that alcohol and eggs mixed, but whatever. He takes a swig from his cup and shoves away a carton of cookies to place it on the table. He grabs the remote from you and says, “Dude, your taste is way too good to do this, and that’s sayin’ something, ‘cause your taste is terrible,” and starts on finding something truly terrible. 

You grab your cup hesitantly and take a tiny sip. It doesn’t taste very good, but you don’t feel like throwing up, so you take this as a sign to drink even more in the hopes it gets better. It doesn’t. You wrinkle up your nose. “Is beer better than this?” 

“Beer tastes like piss, dude,” he tells you, setting the remote next to him while some Spanish telenovela plays, “This is good shit.”

“I doubt I’ll even finish this,” you tell him, holding your cup between your legs. It’s cold on your thighs, but you didn’t bring anything longer than your pajama shorts to sleep in because Dave’s apartment never really gets that cold. You stab a piece of eggs and eat it before Dave drenches the entire damn plate in ketchup.

“Pussy,” he says, and you blow a raspberry. 

“I’m not a pussy, I’m just not into downing this. Why do you wanna get me drunk so bad, dude?” 

“I’m just here to have a good time with you, man,” he tells you, grabbing his cup, “Here, cheers me--,”

_ “Toast  _ you?” you correct him, to which he grumbles, and hold up your cup and clink your plastic to his with a dissatisfying  _ clack.  _ “To bros and shit.” 

“To, ‘ _ fuck  _ Sollux and Karkat.’” 

You snigger. “To ketchup on scrambled eggs.”

“And God bless that,” he says, nodding his head, “The only good things in this world is ketchup on eggs and you.” 

You laugh as he shakes the ketchup bottle up. You dare to take another sip of your gross alcoholic concoction, which honestly wasn’t terrible, but wasn’t very  _ good  _ either. Even as a supposedly edgy and rebellious teenage boy, getting drunk didn’t really interest you as maybe it should. Dave liked doing this stuff. You? You just wanted to maybe just chill out with your best bro without Sollux and Karkat calling you gay for it. Maybe you were a little gay for him. What’s wrong with that, anyway? 

You lean against the headrest, tapping your fingers against the sweating plastic cup, and watch the telenovela with little interest. Dave was eating his ketchup-covered eggs and taking sips of his drink to break up bites, which seemed like something so totally him that it was almost funny to watch. 

You prod at Dave with a socked foot, and he looks over at you, plastic fork halfway to his mouth, “Yeah?”

“What’s it like being drunk?” 

He finishes his bite of egg, shrugs, and  _ thankfully  _ swallows before he speaks, “Jus’ feels kinda sweet. Like, you ain’t really instantly happy or anything, everything's kinda the same, but you just feel like you’re ready to get on and do some real crazy shit. Feels nice, sometimes.” 

“No way in hell am I going to drink enough to get drunk,” you tell him, “Drinking sucks.” 

“It does,” he agrees, and takes a swig, “I think it feels sorta cool, though. Not just… looking cool, y’know? It feels cool to do it.”

“I guess,” you tell him, “Still sounds sorta lame. Do you do it alone?” 

“Yeah,” he tells you, “Usually I drink when I talk to you on weekends.” 

“You don’t sound drunk, though.” 

“‘Cause the only other drunk texter you know is Roxy, dude, and she’s  _ always  _ shitfaced.” 

You crack your neck. “Yeah… Well, in any case-- dude, should you be drinking that much?” 

“Probably not,” he tells you, “Honestly, I always feel compelled to do weird shit when I drink too much.” 

“Yeah?” you ask with a little smile growing over your face, “Like what?” 

“Like, move and yell and shit. Always feel like running through the halls here. Talking to people I don’t even like, and doing wild shit with people I do, and, like,” he pauses, glancing at you, “Well. Yeah.” 

“What kind of wild shit?” you ask, “And what sorta people?”

“Like, people I don’t like, like my ex-girlfriend or Dirk, or whatever. And people I do, like… you. I just think weird shit about y’all,” he pauses, takes a drink, mulls over his words for a little, “And just… whatever, right? Anything that comes to mind,” he stares at you for not a second longer, and you sit up a little bit, taking another drink of your Fanta, “And I get real weird and sexual-- I don’t know how you haven’t noticed, I’m a horny fuck when I drink too much. Like, enough to be considered genuinely drunk.” 

You sit in quiet with the angry Spanish from onscreen for a second. You think about this for a moment. You have noticed a little when Dave was supposed drunk, you guess you just never deduced that he was drunk when he got like that, which annoys you a little. You like knowing that you could figure out how he was feeling from what he said to you. You thought it was sleep-deprivation, which had to be another component, you were sure of it. You didn’t really think he could go on and drink all that often, right? He had to be lying to seem cool, like with Karkat and swearing. 

“You’re always a horny fuck,” you tell him, prodding him with your toe, and he swats at your foot.

“Only for you, Egbert,” he jokes.

You laugh. “Maybe we can get me drunk enough to let you go to second base.” 

“There’s an idea,” he says, tipping his cup to you.

The two of you devolve into silence after that, though it’s not all that awkward. The telenovela goes into another one of the same spirits, and Dave slides the empty plate, slathered with ketchup, back onto the table. He leans back and drains the rest of his cup. Yours is not even half-empty yet. 

“Yo, Egbert, can you pour me another glass?” Dave asks, and you sit up a little. You think up a solution to looking like a little bitch in front of Dave because you really, really don’t want to drink this anymore. 

You glance down at your drink and hand it over to him. “Here. You can have mine. I’ll make myself another one.” 

You hope he doesn’t remember he filled up half the bottle with water. Thankfully, he doesn’t and he takes your cup and takes a swig without a second thought. You get up, take his empty cup, and pad to the kitchen. You put it under the tap to just fill it up with water. He probably won’t notice-- he’s not the most perceptive guys alive-- and you return to the couch and take a drink of your absolutely, 100% alcoholic beverage. 

Dave doesn’t say much. That’s how most of the night goes, quiet. You down your water pretty slowly. The Rib Crib cups are bigger than you would’ve expected and you really hoped that Dave wasn’t getting  _ actually  _ drunk like he’d told you. He wasn’t doing anything crazy yet, and he was pretty quiet, so you just assumed since it was closing in on 3:30 in the morning that his lack of sleep was catching up with him. 

He’s down about half his second glass when he finally says something. And he doesn’t sound exactly drunk. “How do you feel?”

You have the urge to ham it up, but instead, you just shrug. “Normal.”

He snorts. “Yeah, man. Me too. This was a bullshit idea.” 

“It’s not  _ that  _ bad,” you relent, “Okay? We could’ve smoked the weed.” 

He rolls his eyes. “I knew you wouldn’t have bit even if we could, man.” 

You shrug halfheartedly, and you’re almost ready to tell him you’re okay with calling it a night, but he doesn’t give you the chance, “Y’know what I was sayin’ earlier? ‘Bout being drunk and shit?” 

“How you get?” 

“Yeah,” your foot nudges him again and he tosses his arm over your leg, “Well, I ain’t really drunk right now, which blows, but I could’ve expected that much. But I’m just being plain sober and gross.” 

“Gross how?” you ask him, swishing around your watery Fanta. 

“Just… gross.”

“Dave! C’mon.” 

“Alright, fine. I’m just sorta feeling spontaneous, yeah? Lookin’ for something to do but nothing seems worth doing. Really not seeing the appeal in moving but I sure ain’t seeing the appeal in sleeping. I dunno.”

“So what  _ do  _ you wanna do?” 

“Get off?”  

“And you’re  _ sure  _ you’re not drunk?”

“Man, fuck you. If I want to whip out my penis completely sober, then I damn will. This is my house, and this is America.” 

“God bless,” you say. 

“God fuckin’ bless,” he parrots in agreement.

He doesn’t say anything else, but the fingers on the hand he has throw across your leg start to squirm a little bit. After a moment, he says, “I’m sorta pissed at Karkat and Sollux for passing out.” 

“Don’t you wanna spend time with me, man?” you ask, mocking offense.

“I wanna spend time with you a little too much, John,” he says, “I need someone to tell me to drink more so it at least looks accidental.”

You give him a peculiar look, furrowing your brow. Your heart skips five consecutive beats and you nearly faint. “What do you mean?” 

“Nothing,” he says quickly, “It’s just… Can I…”

You sit up a little higher on the couch to listen and accommodate him, going to pull your leg away from him, but you don’t get to because Dave all but climbs over you and kisses you. You squeak a little, which is genuinely embarrassing as fuck, but you’re  _ surprised  _ more than anything else. His grip on your leg climbs to your thigh, and his other hand gets placed on the back of your neck to keep you in place. You do manage to get him off you, not that he puts up much of a fight to stop you.

“What are you doing, dude?” you ask him, nervously, trying to push his hand off your thigh. You don’t want him to know that you’ve totally got a thing for him. You hadn’t even had enough to drink to blame it on that if you regretted this, neither of you had. Your only excuse was sleep deprivation, of which you weren’t suffering, and the insurmountable urge to get your dick wet. 

“Felt like a good idea,” he says after a second.

You don’t really know what to say to him. You wonder vaguely if this is “I have a crush on you, too” territory or if that’s just wishful thinking. And you don’t know how to go about things whatsoever. You put one of your hands on his chest to push him back a little bit. He looks a little upset about that, but still looms over your close enough for your stomach to wind itself up like the butterflies had torn it up and used the strands of your stomach tissue to make French braids. 

You swallow. “It’s very sudden.” 

“I don’t think there’s a casual segue into this, John.” 

The French braided bits of your stomach knot into one massive braid. You stare at him for a long moment. Your hand on his chest grips at the collar of his pajama shirt and you pull him towards you again, intent on proving him that this doesn’t have to be casual but it can be chaste, and you kiss him again. This time, you close your eyes, and he (badly) tries to lead things on his own, but it’s not like  _ you’ve  _ ever been kissed before so you let him shove his tongue down your throat. You don’t really know how to handle this situation at all, so you suppose Dave’s got serious balls by just trying to handle it. 

You like it. You like kissing Dave, more than anything, even though you’re so spooked and unresponsive he might as well be making out with a pillow. You’ve never even kissed a girl before, so all this business with tongue feels weird and slippery and, frankly, totally gross, but you don’t want to stop kissing Dave because, beyond all of that, it’s Dave. And kissing Dave means Dave likes you and Dave liking you means… Well, it could mean a lot of things. He pulls back and you wipe off your mouth a little, still feeling like your stomach is running laps around itself and getting knotted up. 

“You’re pretty,” he tells you, half-composed thoughts seem to want to follow this single sentence, but they don’t. You sorta smile at him. 

“You’re pretty, too,” you tell him. 

He swallows thickly. “Uh, so, like--,” he waves his hand, searching for words, “Do you, like-- I dunno--,” 

You blink at him, wanting to fish him out of the pit he’s digging himself but you’re  _ way  _ too embarrassed to ever glance down at it. He does manage to look a little embarrassed, and it’s cute, even though you don’t say anything. After a moment of his stammering, you feel too bad to not say anything, “We can keep going.” 

You almost cringe at yourself by how  _ stupid  _ that must sound. Dave doesn’t look any less worry-stricken, but he nods soundlessly. He settles back down on the couch and you can practically see his nerves bubbling under his skin. You didn’t clue him in as to  _ how  _ far, but he got the memo you were okay with going far enough to warrant him pulling down his flannel pajama pants and, well,  _ alright.  _

You guess it’s a little easier to get to second base than you’d expect, and this feels totally like a wet dream at this point. He sure has a dick. A penis. It’s there. Your heart is beating in your throat and it turns your yelp into a croak and you stare at him. You’re not trying to make him feel self-conscious because in all fairness he’s the one caught with his pants down, but you don’t know how to handle a penis that isn’t yours.

You hold his dick with one hand, try to remember your late-night gay porn explorations, and you don’t do anything but hold it for a little bit. You’re fucking terrified at this point. You didn’t expect your first sexual encounter to go smooth-ish for about five minutes before you got psyched out. Dave noticed something is up. 

“You okay?” he asks. 

“I don’t know,” you admit after a tense moment of silence, “How should I..?” 

You open your mouth, and close, it, and twist your wrist a little and Dave’s jaw seizes up. “D-Do, like-- Are you gonna give me a--,” 

“I’m thinking about it,” you tell him, embarrassed. The red in your face was ridiculous. If you were an ounce smoother you could swoop down and take his dick into your mouth. Or you could sissy out and give him a handjob. Both would get him off, but at what price?  _ Everyone  _ could give blowjobs. It wasn’t even that difficult. You just had to sit there and move your face and let it ride. “Um. Do you want one?” 

“I mean,  _ yes,”  _ he says, almost mystified, and then coughs “Uh, yeah. But y’don’t gotta, like, y’don’t gotta gimme--,” 

“No, it’s fine,” you tell him, “It’s fine.”

“Alright, dude,” he mumbles.

You don’t quite know what to do but keep trying not to freak out and bail completely on the situation because dicks are out now, this serious, and this is real, and you’re about to give your best friend the absolute  _ worst  _ blowjob a human being could possibly give. You only pray you don’t slice him open with your braces. With a stomach full of nerves, your mouth makes contact with his dick. He swallows, and you drag your tongue up the side. It’s fucking  _ weird  _ if nothing else. You move your hand a little upwards, and you take the tip into your mouth. And then you bail. 

“This feels weird,” you whisper, laughing nervously. 

“We don’t have to,” he says immediately, “We can go to sleep, and, like, never talk about this. It won’t hurt my feelings one bit, dude, so…”

“No!” you say suddenly, and he startles either from that or from the grip on his dick which tightens. You loosen it apologetically. “No, uh, I can… I’ll try my best.” 

“I seriously don’t care,” he says, “Don’t do anything you wanna do.” 

“Just…” you furrow your brow, “Let me concentrate."

You take a deep gulp of air, tell yourself that you’re going to  _ rock  _ this, and go down on Dave so suddenly that he chokes. You’re nervous to hell and back, but his dick is in your mouth and you’re careful not to bite. Fake it ‘til you make it. You’re a tad bit more sure of yourself, but you’re still a lot scared of messing up. You prod at his cock with your tongue, try to take a bit more into your mouth, come up, repeat. 

You expect to be able to take this thing pretty easily. He’s by no means tiny, but you don’t quite expect to have the violent gag reflex that you do. Apparently, forcing an entire dick down your throat is no easy task, which you learn the hard way, and you have to come up and turn head to cough and Dave looks like he’s about to have a stroke. He’s  _ so  _ concerned, giving you all sorts of wonderful, dorky praise, and it’s super cute. 

He stammers on something about how you’re doing pretty good and you don’t have to  _ force _ yourself to do anything. Your hand on his dick remains as still as you do until it computes up in your noggin that you should move it a tiny bit. 

“You were doing pretty well, d-- _ dude,”  _ he breathes, “not… not to sound gay, but I’m kinda proud.” 

Just for this, you know you can’t let him down. “You think so?” 

“Yeah, man,” he says, nodding, “Gon… Gonna get me busting a nut hard enough to wake up Vantas.” 

You really, really try not to think about Karkat. You think you see Dave cringe inwardly at himself, but you’re staring at his lap and not his face. You swallow a breath. He believes in you. Praise seems to be your thing because it gets you to go back down for round three. You take what you can without vomiting and get the genius idea to move your hand to compensate for how shitty you are at this. You haven’t cut him yet, though.

You squeeze your eyes shut really tight and try and think about yourself being  _ mildly  _ attractive while doing this. That seems to boost morale, and with this newfound and faked confidence, you dare to treat him less gingerly. You get the sudden idea to look at Dave but this is almost immediately thrown out of the realm of possibility for yourself. You don’t have the balls for  _ that  _ much. You can feel Dave’s thigh that your free hand rests on tense up, and you pull up and suck to prevent slobber getting all over the place. It doesn’t feel attractive at all, you note after a while, but Dave seems to be… okay with this?

His hand tightens in your hair a little, and he’s breathing pretty deep, so you think you’re doing okay. At the very least you’re sucking his dick well enough to get him to urge you on, pushing your head down further in his lap. You don’t think he’s concerned with treating you with nearly as much caution as you’re showing him because he’s mumbling what you assume are  _ vaguely  _ insulting things under his breath and your nose burns with your throat when he manhandles you. But it’s not bad. It’s a tiny bit hot. 

But that doesn’t stop it from hurting when it isn’t given to you in small, tolerable doses. You pull off his dick entirely for a moment, move the hand around him faster. Jacking him off is easy, you can do that to yourself, but the blowjob aspect is totally new to you and you need a second to think up a game plan. 

“Wow,” he breathes, fists clenching and unclenching, “Have you ever, uh--,” he starts slowly, unsure of himself. Your face grows redder.

“This is my first time, too,” you tell him, “Is it ok?”

“No, no, yeah, it’s really good. You’re so good.” 

“Thanks,” you say, awkwardly, unsure if he was being a prick about it. But right now he looked completely and absolutely floored. You rubbed at your lips which felt swollen and sticky and gross. “You okay?” 

“Please keep going,” he whispers. You oblige. 

You put your lips back around the head of his cock and, to play around with idea, you suck hard enough to hollow out your cheeks and Dave’s legs twitch, his hand in your hair tightens hard enough to hurt, and he says, “Oh,  _ fuck,” _ which you take as a very good sign. You ignore the nerves in your stomach going completely bananas. 

You bob your head, speed up as you go along, and suck on the head every so often, and this proves to be a technique that is absolutely unrivaled. Dave is really into it now, which is good news for you, and as he keeps talking you feel better about your blowjob ability. Maybe it’s natural to you, which sounds completely whorish, but whatever. You only get  _ worse  _ at it when you stop to think about it too hard, so you try to think about anything but the dick in your mouth. This proves difficult when it bumps the roof of your mouth and Dave pushes your face down so that you’re about to suffocate. 

“God,  _ fuck,  _ John,” he mumbles under his breath, his hips snapping up so frequently that you can pinpoint how often you gag on him. It still hurts, but anything that works for him works for you. If you were getting a blowjob, you’d want someone to be taking the care that you are right now, “You’re… way too fuck--  _ fucking  _ good.” 

This is the most questionable boost your ego has ever taken. 

Swallowing, you figure about two minutes into this blowjob, is a task easier said than done. Dave’s hand tightens in your hair, and it hurts but it feels pretty good, which is something you’ll have to feel embarrassed about later, and he shoves your head down into your lap with little consideration for your highly sensitive gag reflex and chokes you on his cum. You struggling to swallow around his cock, but when you do, and you come up, and you cough a whole bunch, Dave gives you this totally  _ holy shit  _ look and you feel pretty good about the whole thing then.

“Did you…” 

You wipe your lips on the back of your hand. 

“Oh, wow,” his voice is considerably smaller 

You kind of stare at each other for a bit, and he coughs. “Do you… Uh, c’mere for me, sugar.”

That’s a  _ very  _ good name to be called, so as Dave tucks his dick back into his pants, you crawl up on his lap and kiss him again. Your braces kind of weirdly press against his teeth and your tongue feels out of place, but even though the kiss is a mess he holds you tight against him and his hand worms it’s way into your pajama shorts. You kind of choke on Dave’s tongue a little bit when he touches your dick, which nobody else has ever taken the liberty of doing. You pull back from the kiss and press your forehead to his. It’s no blowjob since Dave’s masculinity can only take so many hits, but it feels better when someone else touches you for absolute certain. He kisses you on the cheek, which feels very sweet. 

“You’re so good,” he mumbles like he’s not really thinking about what he’s saying and it genuinely makes you whine which seems to surprise him if he way he stares at you is anything to go by. "Super fuckin' good." 

Your face falls to his shoulder as he jacks you off, paranoia and shame be damned to hell, his thumb on the tip of your cock feels entirely too fucking good to think about how embarrassing and lame and weird this may be. You feel strangely  _ rebellious  _ about doing this, too, and you can only hope that he’ll want to do this again because this is going to be masturbation material for weeks and weeks at this point. 

“Gosh,  _ god, Dave,”  _ you whisper into the fabric of his shirt and he speeds up, apparently taking this as encouragement that you are  _ very  _ happy to give him if it means he’ll work even harder to get you off, “Please, please, f- _ fuck--,”  _

You cum even faster than he had, which is a little embarrassing, but you feel like this is the absolute epitome of orgasms. You’ve never felt better. 

As soon as Dave’s hand is out of your pants and he wipes it off on his pajama bottoms, the embarrassment starts to come back to you in waves. You lift your head, gnaw on your lip, but before you can say anything Dave rushes out, “You’re really hot and that was a really good blowjob and I’m sorry I didn’t give you one back but I didn’t think I’d be very good at it and--,” 

“Dave,” you interrupt him, but he doesn’t listen. 

“I don’t know, man, it feels like I totally jipped you and I don’t want you to think I don’t like your dick or think it’s, like, small or something--,”

“I wasn’t thinking about any of that until you said it. Yowch.” 

“Well, I don’t think that!” he says quickly, “I was just, y’know, saying.” 

“Mhm,” you hum, “Let’s just say next time you can do me another favor. Depending on it we do again, and depending on what else we do…”

“What else..?” he prompts. You wiggle your eyebrows but give no further explanation. Honestly, you weren’t really thinking about what else you wanted to do to Dave. You were  _ way  _ too tired. “Ah, fuck, man, that’s not very Christian of you.”

“It’s not like  _ you’ve  _ ever cared about that.” He is considerate enough to at least look a tiny bit flustered. It’s a cute look on him. You’d say something if you weren’t trying to keep him from getting embarrassed. You still want him to sleep with him after this. Sleep with you, tonight, that is, in a totally non-sexual way. 

“I care about tainting this perfect little daddy’s boy.” 

“Ha-ha,” you deadpan, shaking your head, “That is  _ sure  _ what I am, Dave. Thank you for that spot-on commentary,” you tug at the string of his flannel pants, choosing not to tell a tasteful joke about the cum stain, “Wanna go to sleep now?” you ask him, raising an eyebrow, “I think I wore you out.” 

“Something like that,” he swats your hands away from his crotch and you gasp in mock offense. He holds out his arms to you, shimmying his shoulders to entice you into them, “C’mere, Egbert. Let’s catch some Z’s.” 

You call him a queer and settle yourself in his lap so that he can hold onto you and stick his chin on top of your head. You can kinda feel your cum on his pajama pants sticking to your thigh, but it’s whatever. It feels strangely a-ok in your book. You’re still half convinced you’ll wake up with your hand in a bowl of warm water with Karkat and Dave and Sollux snickering over you, but for right now you’re content to snuggle up into Dave. Easier said than done since you’re a lot chubbier than he is and you’re scared you’re going to cave in his chest by laying on it. 

You decide that, for now, this is what you’re content to call reality.

“Dave,” you whisper. 

“Yeah?” 

“When are we gonna get to third base?” 

A short pause. And then, “Go to sleep, man.” 


End file.
